The Thief that Stole Them All
by Red Velvet Fox
Summary: One thief and one valuable-beyond-words locket. That's all it really takes to unleash great misfortune upon a ferret and his family. And when Jonathan's family gets captured and put in chains, it's up to the to-be thief to face his hardest challenge yet.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there! Red Velvet Fox the Red Velveteer at your service!**

**Okay so this is an idea that just hit me last night like a five-hundred-pound brick. And if there's one thing I can tell you about five-hundred-pound bricks, its that they are VERY hard to ignore. Yep. So I wrote this! :D If you have any constructive criticism or comments, please put them in your review! I'd love to hear them! :3 So yes, onward with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall... is this really necessary?**

**Spitepaw (my ferret OC): YES!**

**Me: *pouts* FINE. Idon'townRedwallBrianJacquesdoes. ...Happy?**

**Spitepaw: *smirks evilly* Yes.**

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Chapter One

Hello, I guess. I'm Jonathan, a young ferret who believes he is a thief. I like to think I'm actually pretty good, especially when I steal something and make off all right, but who knows if there's any truth to _that _assumption?

I was currently standing outside in front of the cottage that I resided in with the rest of my family. It was night out and there was a slight breeze, and I was just returning from a particularly successful thieving.

I opened the rotted wooden door to the old broken-down cottage as quietly as possible, wincing as the rusty hinges squeaked in protest. There was really nothing I could do about those accursed hinges: I'd tried oil more than once, but the horrible little things acted like I had just dumped five gallons of water on them, meaning they stayed rusty and maybe even rusted up a bit more. And I'm sure you guessed I over-exaggerated about the whole "five gallons thing." Yeah. We should move on now.

What was I up to? ...Oh right, the door. So once the door was open enough, and I'm pretty skinny so it didn't take too long before the space between the door and the wall of the cottage reached the preferable width, I tip-pawed into the main room. I slowly shut the door and sucked in my breath sharply when it creaked loudly. I relaxed once it had shut up... literally and metaphorically-speaking.

The room was very dark and quiet. It felt unnatural. I shuddered and hugged my arms to my chest. I was actually pretty relieved that no one was here, awake, to ask me awkward questions like, "Where were you?", but still. It was creepy being in the old house without a light to help you see where you are going, or a friend to give you the necessary comfort that helps you put your fears of the dark behind you.

Huh. The thief, the one who stays in the shadows for a living, is afraid of the dark. Some thief I am.

Then again, I guess I just like to _think _I'm a thief. I like believing I can sneak up on someone unnoticed, pretending I can be something I most certainly am not. I'm kidding myself with this whole thief-gig really. A _real _thief would've known how to take care of a rusty hinge good and proper.

I mentally shook myself. _Stop thinking like that! You _are _a thief! Just not a very... good one._

I was so busy with my thoughts that I didn't hear my sister, Priscilla, walk down the stairs.

"Jonathan? Is that you? What are you doing up so late? And why are you wearing that old black cloak?" she said, blinking bleary eyes, one forepaw on the stair rail.

I jumped, spun around and began fidgeting with my forepaws nervously. "Oh, um, yes, I'm Jonathan. Hello, sis."

She squinted at me, which looked odd, seeing as her tired-looking eyes were already only partially open. "You didn't answer my other questions, Johnny."

I frowned and furrowed my brow. "Don't call me that."

"Whatever, _master_," she replied in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. We stood there, staring at each other, before she broke the silence. "Well? Are you going to answer my last two questions or what?"

"What," I answered.

Priscilla stamped her foot. Uh oh. Mad Priscilla was bad. Very bad. "Johnny, come on! Answer my questions! What's up with you? Why have you been acting so weird and..." she paused as she searched for the right word, looking at her paws as if they would help her think. After a few moments she looked up at me again, her face twisted in frustration as she finished her previous sentence. "...And _secretive_! Yes, secretive! Why have you been acting so weird and _secretive_!"

I waved my paws at her, trying to get her to lower her voice. "Sh! You'll wake up mum and dad!"

"I don't care!" Priscilla yelled. "Maybe _they _can get an answer out of you! I'm so sick and tired of waking up nearly every night and seeing you down here. I _know _you're going outside and doing... _something _out there! I'm not sure what it is, but it surely isn't something good! So tell me Jonathan! Tell me what you're doing that is so secret!"

I looked down at my paws. I couldn't tell her... not after what had happened only four months ago... My parents and Priscilla had already found out I had been stealing things once before and they had banned me from doing it ever again. But I couldn't stop. I just loved that exciting feeling I got when I went off to thieve, the feeling that, at any moment, I could be caught, and I couldn't leave it behind me. Believe me, I tried.

Once more my train of thought was broken by Priscilla. "Well?"

Then again, if I didn't tell Priscilla what was going on, I had a feeling she would just rat on me in the morning and I'd have to confess that I broke the promise I made to my parents... and to her, anyway. I was trapped, and Priscilla knew it. Either I told her the truth tonight, or I told the truth to my whole family tomorrow morning. I sighed. It would be best just to go with the former. The less people there were that knew I went off thieving every night the better.

"I was... off..." I deliberately didn't finish my sentence, hoping Priscilla would catch my drift and say the word I couldn't.

She did. "...Thieving. You were off thieving." She stood there for a few heartbeats, completely motionless, before adding, "Please say no. Please, just say _no_."

"Yes," I mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you will say no?"

"You know what I meant!"

Priscilla bit her lip and avoided my gaze. As quickly as she came, Thoughtful, Confused, Unsure Priscilla disappeared and was replaced with Mad Priscilla. She stomped up to me and thrust her face into mine, fists clenched. Her voice was low and sounded merely annoyed, but I knew she was seething inside. "I can't believe you," was all she said. She then spun around and stomped up the stairs.

I considered following after her, maybe even bursting into her room and begging for forgiveness, but I knew it was too late for that now. It would be best if I just waited a few moments before going up there into my own room and giving Priscilla the option to come in out of the blue and chew me out. No, if I wanted to avoid any more trouble, I best just wait a while down here until I was sure she was asleep.

I plopped myself down in a ragged old lounge chair and sighed. I had sunk myself into this mess that my secret had become a little too far, and now all it wanted to do, all it _could _do, was consume me.

I shivered. The room had suddenly gone very cold. Perhaps I hadn't fully shut the door...? No, I was sure I had heard it click shut. Well, it did have a few holes around the edges, making it look like a beaver had gotten a hold of it and decided it would make a tasty snack, so maybe that's where the draft was coming from. I put my hands into my shirt pockets, trying to warm them up.

My forepaw wrapped itself around the object I had put there. Oh, right. I had forgotten all about the strange thing I had stolen that night. I pulled it out and held it in my forepaws, staring at it in awe. It was a little locket that appeared to be made out of some sort of black stone. It was a smooth, round shape, and I liked the way it felt beneath my fingers; so perfect. There wasn't a single dent or bump on its surface. I pocketed the locket and relaxed into the moth-eaten chair.

The locket was quite a spectacle, but was it really worth all this trouble?

I frowned at this sudden thought and got up. I was sure Priscilla was asleep by now; she could fall asleep faster than anything, even if danger hung above her head. ...Of course, I wasn't dangerous and my thieving wasn't dangerous either... just a silly little game really.

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**A/N: Sooo? :D What did you thiiink? ^^ Review please! Review and you can order something from my snack bar!**

**I have ice cream, donuts, hot dogs, cake, burgers, pizza, cotton candy, cupcakes, cookies and grilled cheese sandwiches! So review and order, please! c:**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter two is up! Yaaay... Thanks to Nashog, ifeelmad, WildlifeWarriorness (who I will now be calling Wilfie) and Jade Tealeaf for reviewing! I really appreciate it, guys! ^^**

**Disclaimer: Does anyone REALLY want to admit they don't own the story they're writing? No. And besides, everyone knows I'm not Brian Jacques so please don't-**

**Spitepaw: Just say it.**

**Me: What? Um, I'M COMING, YES! BE RIGHT THERE! ...Um, sorry but my mom's nachos burned so, um, I gotta throw them out for her! What a waste of nachos, right? Heh heh heh...**

**Spitepaw: *glares* We all know that's an alibi. A pretty stupid one, too, at that.**

**Me: *sighs* idon'townRedwallBrianJacquesdoes.**

**Spitepaw: *raises eyebrow* Seriously? Idon Town Redwa Llbria Njacqu Esdoes? What's that even mean? LOUDER AND SLOWER PLEASE!**

**Me: *sniffles* Why do you torture me so?**

**Spitepaw: *grins* Because it's fun.**

**Me: Fine... I. Don't. Own. Redwall. Brian Jacques does. *bursts into tears* That was so HARD!**

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Chapter Two

I opened my eyes, my vision blurry from sleep. I stared absentmindedly at the cracked wooden ceiling above me, wondering why I felt more tired than usual. Oh. Realization hit me like a bucket of rocks. Priscilla. The locket. Also, I was hungry and wanted breakfast. I rubbed my eyes, hopped out of bed, stretched, and then made my way to the rectangular hole in the wall of my room that served as a doorway to the hall. A door had used to reside there, but there had been an... accident. An accident involving a doll, Mad Priscilla, a kitchen knife, and me. Long story, don't want to talk about it.

Ahem. Right. I walked through the doorway and into the hall, then down the stairs, which creaked horribly beneath my feet.

_A _real _thief would have_-

"Shut up, me," I muttered. I didn't really feel like getting criticized at the moment. I hopped off the last step. I know, I know, it was really childish of me, but I'd been doing it ever since I was little and had discovered how. What do they say? Old habits die hard, and this particular habit was no exception.

_Oh ho, so you're going to grow up to be some fully-grown ferret hopping off stair steps, hm? And what about when you become a _real _thief and you steal for a living? You gonna go hoppin' off stairs and givin' away your position then too? Ha, some lousy thief of a ferret _you _turned out to be._

I swear there's someone in my head, taking up valuable space. Either that, or my brain has a mind of its own and had grown highly cynical of me. Shaking these these ridiculous thoughts from my head, I made my way into the small kitchen with the wood-burning stove, where my mother was cooking breakfast. I sniffed the air, getting a whiff of the delicious-smelling stuff.

"Mm, smells scrumptious," I commented, licking my lips.

All my mother did was say a sharp, "Hm" and give me a tense nod. She walked stiffly over to the sink and began washing her forepaws.

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what was going on. "What," I asked, "did the food burn or something?"

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," she said flatly, wiping her forepaws dry on her for-the-most-part-clean apron. She strode quickly over to a cutting board placed upon the counter and began chopping a carrot as she spoke. "Why do you ask?"

I shuffled my paws nervously. Something was wrong. "Oh, no reason. So what's for breakfast?"

My mother didn't answer and appeared to suddenly have trouble cutting the carrot. What was going on? Did something happen while I was still asleep?

"Go into the other room," she said, her voice quivering. At first fear overwhelmed me and I thought someone had been killed and the body was in the dining room, but those fears were quickly quenched out of existence when my mother added, "Breakfast's almost done."

"Ah," I said, visibly relaxing. It had been a pretty stupid thought, anyway. "Okay. See you, mum!" I raced into the dining room and seated myself in a beaten-down wooden chair at a table that looked like it had been made centuries ago. Everything in this house was either old, wooden or both. My family couldn't really afford any better. Eh, it was home and nobody really minded anyway. We'd lived in worse before... Ever live in a cave in the winter with only your clothes to warm you? Didn't think so.

My dad and Priscilla were already sitting at the table. My dad was glancing at me every now and then with this weird look on his face. I couldn't really tell what it meant or why he was giving me what appeared to be some version of the evil eye in the first place. Huh. What was up with everyone today?

Then my mother came in with some steaming hot porridge. Not exactly my favorite; the mushy stuff was always bland, but I was too hungry to care right now. My mother placed a bowl before everyone present, spoons already dipped in the light golden glop. She sat down and placed the last bowl in front of herself. I immediately began shoving my food into my mouth, feverishly scooping up porridge with my spoon. I looked up, just for a few heartbeats, and noticed everyone was staring at me, their porridge untouched and their faces stern.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and said, "What? Why are you guys all looking at me? Did I do something wrong?"

My mother laughed, but it was more of a scoffing laugh than a happy one. "Wrong? Did you do something wrong? No, of course not! We _all _know you did absolutely _nothing _wrong." That last part was sarcasm. I would know. I hear it every time Priscilla opens her mouth.

But now was not the time for jokes. I knew what they were talking about. Stupid Priscilla. She ratted on me! Why had I ever trusted her?

"Sorry," I mumbled looking down at my bowl and twirling my spoon around in my porridge. It made a satisfying slurping noise.

Now it was my dad's turn to yell at me. "Sorry? _Sorry?! _You lie to us and sneak off every night without our knowledge and all you can give us is one lousy _sorry? _What did you think would happen if you got caught? The beast you just stole from would just let you go 'cause you're a kid? The beasts these days don't care what age you are: a thief is a thief. Do you know what I would have to do to bail you out of jail, then? I would have to pay quite a lot of money, and I don't _have _that kind of money. You know that! We need you here to help out as well, what with your mother recovering from that sickness and all." My dad stopped and kneaded his forehead with a forepaw. "I thought we already talked about this, Jonathan."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. I knew that now was not the time to fuss and fidget over the little things, but I didn't like how he referred to me as a kid. I was thirteen seasons old! I had stopped thinking people would forgive me for my wrongs immediately long ago. I already _knew _what was at risk. That's what made me love thieving; all the risks. It added some low level of adventure into my dull life. 'Course, if I told my dad that, I would just be asking for another lecture.

My dad shook his head. I could tell he wanted to say more, but he was too ashamed and disappointed in me that he was struck speechless. I kept my head lowered and my face downcast. I was feeling pretty ashamed of myself as well.

As I continued to pick at my food, my mom spoke up, her lips pursed, attempting to break the uneasiness and tenseness in the air. "Well, I made a double-layered carrot cake this morning."

Carrot cake. My mouth watered. So _that _had been the good-smelling something in the kitchen earlier. Because we only had one cake pan, my mother must've had one half of the double-layered cake in the oven and had begun to make the other one at the same time. It figures; porridge _never _smells good.

My dad raised an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

We almost never had all the ingredients for a cake and if we happened to we then didn't have enough of the ingredients. Only on the holidays would my mother take out the time to make a cake, as well as making sure she had all the necessary ingredients and the right amount of so-said ingredients.

"Oh," my mother replied: On a normal day, she would've given a shrug. "No reason, really. I just thought we should do something nice for Priscilla's tenth birthday, don't you think?"

Ah. They were shoving it into my face that they were mad at me for betraying their trust by rewarding Priscilla for being such a "good girl". My mom made cake on the holidays, but never on birthdays. Getting the needed ingredients was usually decently expensive. Over on the other end of the table, I saw Priscilla stick her tongue out at me.

I felt like returning the gesture, but I could tell I was at the end of my rope here and shouldn't risk angering my parents more than they already were. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back; the push that made me fall off the mountain. ...Yeah, sorry about all the metaphors. I can get a little carried away sometimes.

My dad nodded his head. "Yes, I'm very proud of my girl. Telling the truth may be difficult, but it's worth more than all the trouble lies can cause." He glared at me when he said the last part. I shrunk into my baggy clothes.

"When's your birthday?" my dad asked Priscilla. "Three days from now, right?"

"No dad," Priscilla corrected, "it's _tomorrow._"

"Oh, er, right," my dad said, looking a little embarrassed.

My mom clapped her hands sharply, sending all eyes to fix on her. "Well! I believe we have more difficult matters to tend to than birthday dates, no? What are we going to do with Jonathan?"

I didn't like how my mother was acting as if I wasn't in the room at all. It made me feel frustrated and annoyed inside.

_Oh stop your whining, _the cynical voice said.

I was too upset to yell at it.

My dad cleared his throat and stood up. "I think it would be best if Jonathan is never allowed outside again. If we let him go outside and simply banned him from thieving, like we did, who's to say he won't take up pick-pocketing random strangers? No, we must pull this weed up from its roots. We'll have to take Jonathan's thieving things and burn them, maybe. Hide them, in the least. He can't thieve without that cloak Priscilla so kindly told us about."

Priscilla earned a quick glare from me right then and there.

"Jonathan!" my mother scolded.

My dad feigned clearing his throat again just to get our attention. "_Anyway, _as I was saying, Jonathan can't thieve without his cloak. His fur is a lighter color and he'd stand out too much, even in dim moonlight."

This was my dad's way of discouraging me from stealing any more after he got around to getting rid of my stuff. My whole family had lighter colored fur, actually. Most ferrets have very dark brown fur, but my dad had light brown fur and my mother had white, but she wasn't an albino. Priscilla and I had silver-colored fur for some reason. A lot of the time other beasts mistook us as twins because Priscilla was about my height, regardless of her younger age. I probably should've told you all this earlier, but I'm pretty forgetful. Oh well.

"So, is this agreed?" My dad continued.

My mother bit her lip. "Don't you think you're acting a bit rash, love? Jonathan hasn't really done anything to harm the family..."

My dad remained firm to his opinion. "Jonathan hasn't, admittedly, harmed us in any direct way, but he's _endangering_ our whole family, Lillian, just by going out every night to steal who-knows-what! I can't just let him do his own thing because that obviously didn't work out very well last time, now did it?"

"Well." My mother said it more like a statement than the beginning of a sentence.

"So," my dad said, gazing at every person seated. "Is it agreed?"

"Yes," my mother said, looking down. It kind of made me feel better to know that she didn't want me to lose my thieving equipment. Then those happy feeling molted into guilt. She still trusted me, even after I had lied. I felt terrible inside.

"Yes!" Priscilla said instantly. She was feeling no regrets there.

"Three to one," my father concluded. I began to feel worse; I really liked my thieving kit and cloak and the thought of my dad destroying them one way or another made me sick to my stomach. I heard my father say one last thing: "Jonathan, go collect your thieving things and bring them to me. And don't even consider hiding some! Priscilla did a little... inventory count while you were sleeping."

I frowned. Priscilla was in my bedroom? That's just... weird. Weird and very, very disturbing. I sighed, pushing myself and my chair away from the table. I got up slowly and shuffled my way over to the stairs. I trudged up them, barely believing how fast my world had come crashing down on me.

The rest of my family just sat there, the porridge now cold.

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**A/N: So. Tell me what you think! Review and order from the snack bar, which now offers EVERYTHING because I'm just too lazy to write all available foods down! :D**

**Sadly, the next chapter will be short due to my plot. *shakes fist* DARN YOUUUUU!**


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